


Love in the monsoon season

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-12
Updated: 2002-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-20 10:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11334045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: The forecast calls for rain.





	Love in the monsoon season

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Love in the monsoon season

## Love in the monsoon season 

#### by Laurel

Spoilers: Specifically Terma and the episode that date not say its name. You know the one what I'm talking about.  
Notes: Inspired by the lovely film Monsoon Wedding and sparked by an article in a gay newsletter about love and prejudice. 

It rained like you wouldn't believe. Torrential rain. Sheets of it filling your shoes, stinging your skin with fat slicing drops, soaking your clothes until they clung to you like a second skin that you couldn't peel off. Monsoon season. 

Rajiv greeted me at the apartment door with his sweet smile, as mysterious as Buddha's, as welcoming as the sweetly scented air after the rain had stopped temporarily, and just as hot. 

The apartment we had was small, no make that cramped, but my lover had dressed up the cozy space with colorful drapes in rainbow hues and intricately woven rugs and wall coverings he'd bought at the market. 

We had a supper of sesame chicken and steamed rice, my favorites. The Coke was the real thing, the glass sweating in the humid air, the ice cubes popping as the warmth invaded them. 

We had ice cream for dessert, standing at the tiny balcony. I'm not partial to balconies but then again people think I'm dead and I'm in a foreign country, not likely to run into anyone who knows me even in this country of 50 million people, so I'm not likely to be chained to the railing or worse, thrown off of one. 

Raj leaned in close to me. His breath was sweet and a little spicy, his loose apricot shirt whipped against me as the wind rose. Underneath the shirt, I could see his brown skin. It was smoother than the sweet coffee I like but a few shades darker than cappuccino. 

My stubble rasped against his cheek. He'd shaved before I got home. He didn't seem to mind though. At least I'd wiped away some of the sweat that had gathered through the course of the day in the hollow of my throat, my pits, my feet and crotch. I'd even dabbed on a bit of his cologne. He smelled it on me and smiled. 

Raj's nimble fingers made quick work of my shirt and we retreated back into the safety of our little home. Four pairs of male eyes from the neighbors across the way burned through our window. Their eyes glowed with what looked like hatred and perhaps envy or jealousy for when we drew the curtains closed, they cursed at us, and something landed with a thump against the glass. They wanted to watch us. 

We ignored them and instead, Raj put on a CD and we slow danced as we undressed each other. We ended up in the bedroom, away from prying eyes. 

I rolled him over on the bed. He was surprisingly strong for his slim build. He twisted his legs around mine, humped his crotch against my hip, then scissored his legs around my waist, arching his hips upward. 

My sex kitten was playful and strong but never dangerous. He giggled as I paid him back with kisses, as sweet as the cherry ice he bought from the street vendor that would leave his tongue deep red. 

He would smile wickedly, stick out his tongue like a child, all the while his amber eyes twinkled with mischief. He'd take my hand, the right one so he could feel the sticky warmth of my flesh and pull me along the street, stopping at the vendors selling beaded jewelry hanging down in colorful strings or sweet perfume. 

He loved to bring me to the stores crowded with women fingering the jewel and pastel colored silks to make saris. His fingers would whisper over the material as smooth as his own skin, as slippery as trying to catch a waterfall. 

The women, cooing and chattering over a piece of material, would stop and stare at Raj as he stood transfixed, concentrating on a decision between peach, pink or sky blue silk to sew himself a new tunic. 

For me he'd pick deep blue, green or inky black. I couldn't get used to the bright colors and preferred to blend into the shadows of the back alleys. 

I loved to see his thoughtful look as he carefully picked buttons from a box of his grandmother's best buttons and ribbons, trying to find just the right ones. 

I had much more fun taking off his clothes than he had making them. First I'd slip off the buttons of his latest creation carefully so as not to ruin his shirt. But once it was discarded, all bets were off. 

He laughed as I tugged down his pants and briefs. I tongued his pebbly pink nipples, traced a path down his firm chest to his navel. His dark honey skin was dewy with a fine sheen of sweat, which gathered in damp trails along his collarbone, in the puddle of his navel, along the creases of his flanks. 

He grinned as I let myself snuffle in his crotch, tasting his spicy pre-cum, lapping at his shaft, nibbling at the velvet skin covering his hardness, pushing at his heavy balls with my nose until he grunted in frustration. 

I gave them a tentative lick before pulling one gently into my mouth. He tasted sweet and spicy and tangy. I couldn't wait to try tasting another part and my tongue searched out his ass. His legs opened up to my assault. I really should have shaved but I think he likes this little discomfort. It's a reminder of what I did to him. 

My cheeks rasped over his thighs like a flick of sandpaper against wood and he moaned as my tongue found his tight little hole. His legs spread wider than an acrobat's nimble limbs. I slid in a finger into that wet and loosened bud and he opened up some more. 

His hole eagerly sucked my finger in and his eyes, heavy with lust, half-closed so that I could only see a glimpse of amber. He purred when I pushed in two fingers. 

I leaned over and kissed his juicy lips, letting his tongue lap up the mingled tastes of his own musk, his spicy pre-cum, the exotic spices released minutely through our skin from our shared meal, the tastes of salt from our sweat, the vanilla ice cream. 

Raj twisted his legs around my neck and pulled me down. My fingers were replaced with my thick shaft. Raj's tongue became aggressive. His tongue was thick as honey and just as sweet, exploring my mouth thoroughly, leaving his essence on my taste buds, both salty and sweet. 

Outside there was the sound of hard rain pelting the window, splashing against the rail, sliding sensuously down the petals and leaves of our balcony garden. Out there the neighbors stared in vain at the drawn curtains, cursing at our love nest that was closed off to them. 

Beyond the apartment and miles away, continents apart, there were men looking for me perhaps, maybe just looking for a body if they really believed the ruse that I was dead and gone. 

But in here, there was warmth and heat. There was my lover snuggled in cool cotton sheets, his legs twisted around my hips as I stroked deeper into him, his eyes closed against pleasure, his silk clothes splayed against the rattan chair, his hand clenched around the spindle of the bed, his silver ring gleaming in the twilight. The ring that symbolized our union, its twin on my hand braced on the bed. 

I looked down at him and smiled tenderly, thinking of the nights we spent in lustful bliss, locked together, a tangle of arms and legs; of him clutching my arm as we wound our way through the bazaars echoing with the shouts of street vendors selling their wares, the steamy smells of cooking, the jangle of bicycles pushing through the pedestrians in the narrow streets, the colors of bright rugs and silks assaulting the eyes with impossible hues; his quiet demeanor as he brought me to the ancient mosques to marvel at; his voice cooing and soothing, coaxing me out of my nightmares, promising to keep my secrets safe; the night he'd wound a wedding bower of tangerine marigolds around our necks and pushed his hungry mouth on mine. 

I sank deeper inside him, loving the catch of his breath as I pressed his gland insistently and he came hard against me, spurting a spray of cum all over himself, calling out my name. 

Raj's name was on my lips as I collapsed on top of him. He soothed me with long, slender fingers, as I easily slipped out of him. The bed was wet with our sweat and cum but he didn't seem to mind as he curled up around me. 

The rain lessened, drumming on the window hypnotically, drowning out the voices in my head, soothing us to sleep, leading me to dream in fabulous Technicolor, instead of the usual black and white and gray. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Laurel 


End file.
